


Bittersweet

by joypendants



Category: The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Gen, NO GENDER DEBATES HERE FRIENDOS, i kinda left sheik's gender, uh, undefined ig ??, ye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4132626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joypendants/pseuds/joypendants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you kiss him, it is amazing and bittersweet, and it tastes like a beautiful lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> SO this is cross-posted from my old ff.net account !! it's older, so the writing is a tad 'eeeeeh' to put it gently omg;; i'm sorry but?? i still rlly like it so –– without further ado, please enjoy my old writing! 
> 
> (EDIT: i cleaned it up a bit and fixed some grammar errors i saw!)

He is, of course, your everything.

You would not admit to that, naturally, for you have far too much pride (and it is also _wrong_ ), but he _is_ your everything. You are a proud creature, and so you will never say that aloud: However, in the dark of night, when the moon is the only spectator, in those precious moments of stolen intimacy, the forbidden times that no one shall ever know of (bar, of course, yourself and the Hero), you will allow yourself to silently whispers to the darkness that he _is your everything_. He is your sun and moon and stars and everything in between.

In those quiet moments, those little pieces of heaven as you will silently call them, you know with a certainty that he means far too much to you. He should mean _nothing_ , simply being a part of the duties that you must preform –– and yet, he is your _universe_. He is a brilliant light, and you are but a shadow. He should repel you, push you away, but instead he entrances you, drawing you in, like a moth to a flame. (You are much like Icarus, daring to fly too close to the sun; you should watch yourself, little shadow, lest you get burned.) Your are a puppet and a pawn, nothing more, and he is a radiant hero, shining bright in the darkness that is now the world. You are a fleeting mist, here one moment and gone the next, and he is a beacon that will live forever, passed down through the years in tales and song. (You long to be remembered as he will be, but that is not your fate: You do not get to stand beside your Hero. You instead fade, like a flower plucked too soon.) 

And yet, in the calm moments like this one, the ones where you are close and safe, your back against his chest, his breathing soft and even and peaceful –- in these moments, you are ready to admit that you love him despite it all. Despite the fact that he is light and you ––  _you are darkness_ , you love him. You are ready to admit that he is everything to you, your sun and stars. You whisper to yourself that even the ground beneath your feet reminds you of him when you are apart (it is steady, just as he is, and it holds you in place: oh, it is like him, and you hate it for that). Your heart beats it out in a steady rhythm, a silent prayer to whatever deity that might hear, and you beg for the freedom to stay with your Hero. (It is a foolish wish, made by a child, and nothing more. You know it is fruitless.)

In these precious moments where it is simply you and him, where nothing else holds any other meaning, you swear to yourself that you would do anything to keep him safe. When he holds you close, pressed up against his chest, grounded by his strong arms and surrounded in his scent (he smells of freedom and warmth; if sunlight had an aroma, that is what his scent is), you admit to yourself that you love him, even though you can never tell _him_ that. When he embraces you, you are safe, you are home –- but he can never know that. It is not right. You should have never let him get this close to you. (But you did, and even though it hurts, you do not regret it. You could never regret it.)

By the crackling fire, he holds you close, whispering sweet words into your ear, and you feel safe. You feel secure and warm, and you think your heart might explode and your lungs might collapse. You are not _meant_ to feel like this –– not meant to feel at all –– because you are just a shadow and nothing more. You should mean nothing to him, and he should mean nothing to _you_ , but no; it did not go like that. (Your foolish heart had other plans.) He is your world, and you -– you do not know what you are to him, and you do not want to. (What if you mean less to him than he does to you? What then? It is better this way, not knowing, even if the question kills you inside.)

Still, he treats you like a _person_ , showing you affection and making sure that you are all right (and you are always all right, for you have to be; you are his guide still, even though he has become the reason that you breathe). No, he treats you more than like a person: He treats you as if you are special. When he smiles at you, you feel like you are the most privileged person in the world, and when he looks at you, his gaze is soft. You wonder why he has bothered to give you this kind of attention when he could easily have anyone that he wants, but he seems to have chosen you, of all people. You, a simple shadow and nothing more, the most unworthy person, has been chosen by this radiant hero. You, who is barely alive, and is nothing more than a ghost what once what and what can never be again.

However, when you are like you are right now, his arms about you, holding you close in a secure embrace, letting you feel his heartbeat, you are _alive_. You are a person, your heart pounding, blood racing through your veins, air in your lungs, and–– Your heart is about to explode, and you are horribly, painfully, alive. You are here, and it hurts, but you wouldn't trade it for the world. There is electricity running down your spine, a star exploding in your soul, there is fire in your veins -– _you are alive_ , and there is a ache in your chest, for this feeling is terrible and fleeting. It is forbidden for you, just as he is, and it cannot last. (In a short while, you will be dead to him, just as it was meant to be. It will be as if you have never existed, and while he shall move on, you shall not: You will always remember him, your beautiful, radiant hero, the one who drew you in and caused you to fly too close to the sun.)

And so, knowing this, you turn, carefully, so very carefully, pressing yourself closer to his chest, burying your face in his shoulder. You surround yourself in his scent, memorizing it, memorizing the feeling of his arms tightening about you, listening to him inhale and exhale (for, when this is over, this is all you shall have: memories, memories that are terrible and beautiful and shall never again come to pass). Your hearts are beating together, yours quicker than his: His, just as he is, is slow and steady and calming. He is peaceful, drifting in between sleep and wakefulness, a gentle sigh passing his lips (oh, how you wish to lean up and kiss him, but you musn't). Your heart is beating too fast, and fire is in your veins and there is an ache in your chest, for this _cannot last._

If it cannot last, and you _know_ that it can't, should you not indulge yourself? Should you not be selfish, for once in your life? You must make memories, for when this is over, that will be all that you have as you retreat back into the shadows, becoming an obedient servant and nothing more once again. (You were never meant to be a person. You were never meant to fall this far.) 

Reaching up, shifting ever so slightly in the Hero's embrace, you kiss him, and it is amazing and bittersweet and it tastes like a beautiful lie.

Fin.


End file.
